


Are we having a hard time?

by iloveyoudie



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Impact Play, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Riding Crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: If he didn’t have control, what did he have?
Relationships: Ronnie Box/Max Debryn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Are we having a hard time?

The crop whistled through the air and struck hard across the back of Box’s thighs with an audible crack. The pain was sharp and swift and immediately bloomed into a hot sting that had him pinching the corner of his lip between his teeth. He could feel his body tense and had an intense desire to shift, but he couldn’t. This was about self control. There were no restraints on him, nothing to stop him from moving or leaving or even striking back. This was self-discipline as well as willing surrender.

He had on nothing but a blindfold and the soft dark cloth only furthered the height of feeling. Seeing was a distraction. He could only rely on sensation, the feel of the air on his skin and the sounds of the man moving around him. Box was on his hands and knees on a very firm mattress with very lush bedding and his thighs were spread. His feet just settled over the foot of the mattress so that his arse and bollocks were presented for punishment and between his legs his heavy, aching cock hung angry and unsatisfied.

Because he was hard. Fuckin hell, was he hard.

The next strike came quicker, before he’d had the mental steel to ready himself, the lash coming across the underside of his arse, just nicking against his balls, and he jolted and gasped at the sharp sting as his stomach twisted low with the pain. It was enough to make him hiss, to make his thighs tremble and his hips drop like a lead weight towards the bedding. Box realized how easy it would be to just collapse on his belly. He was so fucking hard and the knowledge that he could just rut himself down into that plush duvet was like mental torture. His thighs quivered and threatened to turn to jelly as he struggled with the possibility, until the cool length of the riding crop came up from under him, pressed against him, and pinned his cock to his stomach none too gently to prevent his hips from falling any further.

He actually whimpered. Fuck. It was humiliating. But the edge of the crop felt shockingly hard against his sensitive flesh.

“Are we having a hard time?” Came the firm, growl of a voice in his ear.

“No,” Box grunted. He could smell him, a hint of aftershave and something like mint. It prickled in his nose as much as the feel of his breath prickled along his ear and neck and wormed hot through his core to add another layer to his arousal. Box trembled as he slowly tried to move his knees back into the proper position.

“Hips up, Ronnie.”

Box could feel humiliation burn through his limbs as he let the crop push into him like an iron brand and force his hips upwards. His muscles burned, pleasure and pain and embarrassment elevating it all. The exact biological compounds behind it all had been explained to him the first time, after he was welted and spent and taken care of, too tired and needy for soothing to complain about the brainy bullshit. The craving for discipline, for domination and abuse, had been what brought him here but Box hadn't realized that along with that came a responsible gentility and tender aftercare. He’d never imagined he would end up craving that just as badly.

He could feel the body heat of the other man beside him now, could feel his own body aching for satisfaction as the other leaned close, but he knew he wouldn’t get it by giving in so easily.

If he didn’t have control, what did he have?

Box’s hips finally set back into place. His legs once more spread and locked, his body was again proudly presented. A breeze through the room set every single welt on him to stinging, glorious heat, swelling his flesh, but he enjoyed it. His sweat also chilled across the planes of his back, down his spine, across his forehead and cheeks, and in the heated seams of his body created by his position.

He tightened against a shiver, every muscle coiling tight under his skin as he steeled himself for more.

If he was not a man of control. He was nothing.

A finger dragged down his spine, gentle, soft, and Box couldn’t help the surprised sound that came out of him. It was a sigh of desperation, and he nearly trembled in desire to be allowed to sag, to rut, to gain satisfaction.

“Is this what you’d prefer?” The voice took a patronizing, nasal edge, as if Box were some simpering child, "Are we downgrading to the kid gloves?"

“Fuck, no,” Box grunted. His hand tightened in the bedding stubbornly, “Get on with it, Ma-”

And before he finished saying his name the crop came again, whistled through the air and landed once more across his thighs. Box was still tense and it hit him hard but it brought glorious pain and a heat that shot straight to his cock and pulled a groan from his lips. It would all pay off in the end, satisfaction would be given, pleasure gifted once he had earned it.

“Who gives the orders here, Ronnie?” A finger hooked in the collar around his throat and tugged his head back from behind.

"You do," Box swallowed against it just to feel the tightened leather against his skin.

"And what are you to address me by?"

“Doctor.”

“Now-"

Box could hear the crop bend in the doctor’s hands and the anticipation made him tingle from head to foot.

"What do you want?”

“More.”

The crop cut through the air again.

**Author's Note:**

> once again... this is a don't ask questions scenario.
> 
> just accept it. embrace it. open ur third eye.


End file.
